"Who is with her?"
"The stranger--this man, Stevens."
"Ha! your counsellor, that would be? Ah! William, you did not tell me all."
CHAPTER XIV.
THE ENTHUSIAST.
The cheeks of the youth glowed. He felt how much he had suppressed in his conference with his venerable counsellor. Mr. Calvert did not press the topic, and the two remained silent, looking down, from the shaded spot where they lay, upon the progress of Margaret Cooper and her present attendant, Stevens. The eminence on which they rested was sufficiently lofty, as we have seen, to enable them, though themselves almost concealed from sight, to take in the entire scene, not only below but around them; and the old man, sharing now in the interest of his young companion, surveyed the progress of the new-comers with a keen sense of curiosity which, for a time, kept him silent. The emotions of William Hinkley were such as to deprive him of all desire for speech; and each, accordingly, found sufficient employment in brooding over his own awakened fancies. Even had they spoken in the ordinary tone of their voices, the sounds could not have reached the persons approaching on the opposite side. They drew nigh, evidently unconscious that the scene was occupied by any other than themselves. Ned Hinkley was half-shrouded in the shrubbery that environed the jutting crag upon which his form was crouched, and they were not yet sufficiently nigh to the tarn to perceive his projecting rod, and the gaudy fly which he kept skipping about upon the surface. The walk which they pursued was an ancient Indian footpath, which had without doubt conducted the red warriors, a thousand times before, to a spot of seclusion and refreshment after their long day"s conflict on the "DARK AND b.l.o.o.d.y GROUND." It was narrow and very winding, and had been made so in order to lessen the fatigue of an ascent which, though gradual enough, was yet considerable, and would have produced great weariness, finally, had the pathway been more direct.
The circuitousness of this route, which lay clear enough before the eyes of our two friends upon the eminence--crawling, as it did, up the woodland slopes with the sinuous course of a serpent--was yet visible to Ned Hinkley, on his lowlier perch, only at its starting-point, upon the very margin of the lake. He, accordingly, saw as little of the approaching persons as they had seen of him. They advanced slowly, and seemed to be mutually interested in their subject of conversation. The action of Stevens was animated; The air and att.i.tude of Margaret Cooper was that of interest and attention. It was with something little short of agony that William Hinkley beheld them pause upon occasion, and confront each other as if the topic was of a nature to arrest the feet and demand the whole fixed attention of the hearer.
It will be conjectured that Alfred Stevens had pressed his opportunities with no little industry. Enough has been shown to account for the readiness of that reception which Margaret Cooper was prepared to give him. Her intelligence was keen, quick, and penetrating. She discovered at a glance, not his hypocrisy, but that his religious enthusiasm was not of a sort to become very tyrannical. The air of mischief which was expressed upon his face when the venerable John Cross proposed to purge her library of its obnoxious contents, commended him to her as a sort of ally; and the sympathy with herself, which such a conjecture promised, made her forgetful of the disingenuousness of his conduct if her suspicions were true. But there were some other particulars which, in her mind, tended to dissipate the distance between them. She recognised the individual. She remembered the bold, dashing youth, who, a few months before, had encountered her on the edge of the village, and, after they had parted, had ridden back to the spot where she still loitered, for a second look. To that very spot had she conducted him on their ramble that afternoon.
"Do you know this place, Mr. Stevens?" she demanded with an arch smile, sufficiently good-humored to convince the adventurer that, if she had any suspicions, they were not of a nature to endanger his hopes.
"Do I not!" he said, with an air of EMPRESSMENT which caused her to look down.
"I thought I recollected you," she said, a moment after.
"Ah! may I hope that I did not then offend you with my impertinence? But the truth is, I was so struck--pardon me if I say it--with the singular and striking difference between the group of damsels I had seen and THE ONE--the surprise was so great--the pleasure so unlooked for--that--"
The eye of Margaret Cooper brightened, her cheek glowed, and her form rose somewhat proudly. The arch-hypocrite paused judiciously, and she spoke:--
"Nay, nay, Mr. Stevens, these fine speeches do not pa.s.s current. You would make the same upon occasion to any one of the said group of damsels, were you to be her escort."
"But I would scarcely ride back for a second look," he responded, in a subdued tone of voice, while looking with sad expressiveness into her eyes. These were cast down upon the instant, and the color upon her cheeks was heightened.
"Come," said she, making an effort, "there is nothing here to interest us."
"Except memory," he replied; "I shall never forget the spot."
She hurried forward, and he joined her. She had received the impression which he intended to convey, without declaring as much--namely, that his return to Charlemont had been prompted by that one glimpse which he had then had of her person. Still, that nothing should be left in doubt, he proceeded to confirm the impression by other suggestions:--
"You promise to show me a scene of strange beauty, but your whole village is beautiful, Miss Cooper. I remember how forcibly it struck me as I gained the ascent of the opposite hills coming in from the east.
It was late in the day, the sun was almost setting, and his faintest but loveliest beams fell upon the cottages in the valley, and lay with a strange, quiet beauty among the gra.s.s-plats, and the flower-ranges, and upon the neat, white palings."
"It is beautiful," she said with a sigh, "but its beauty does not content me. It is too much beauty; it is too soft; for, though it has its rocks and huge trees, yet it lacks wildness and sublimity. The rocks are not sufficiently abrupt, the steeps not sufficiently great; there are no chasms, no waterfalls--only purling brooks and quiet walks."
"I have felt this already," he replied; "but there is yet a deficiency which you have not expressed, Miss Cooper."
"What is that?" she demanded.
"It is the moral want. You have no life here; and that which would least content me would be this very repose--the absence of provocation--the strife--the triumph! These, I take it, are the deficiencies which you really feel when you speak of the want of crag, and chasm, and waterfall."
"You, too, are ambitious, then!" she said quickly; "but how do you reconcile this feeling with your profession?"
She looked up, and caught his eye tenderly fixed upon her.
"Ah!" said he, "Miss Cooper, there are some situations in which we find it easy to reconcile all discrepancies."
If the language lacked explicitness, the look did not. He proceeded:--
"If I mistake not, Miss Cooper, you will be the last one to blame me for not having stifled my ambition, even at the calls of duty and profession."
"Blame you, sir? Far from it. I should think you very unfortunate indeed, if you could succeed in stifling ambition at any calls, nor do I exactly see how duty should require it."
"If I pursue the profession of the divine?" he answered hesitatingly.
"Yes--perhaps--but that is not certain?" There was some timidity in the utterance of this inquiry. He evaded it.
"I know not yet what I shall be," he replied with an air of self-reproach; "I fear I have too much of this fiery ardor which we call ambition to settle down into the pa.s.sive character of the preacher."
"Oh, do not, do not!" she exclaimed impetuously; then, as if conscious of the impropriety, she stopped short in the sentence, while increasing her forward pace.
"What!" said he, "you think that would effectually stifle it?"
"Would it not--does it not in most men?"
"Perhaps; but this depends upon the individual. Churchmen have a great power--the greatest in any country."
"Over babes and sucklings!" she said scornfully.
"And, through these; over the hearts of men and women."
"But these, too, are babes and sucklings--people to be scared by shadows--the victims of their own miserable fears and superst.i.tions!"
"Nevertheless, these confer power. Where there is power, there is room for ambition. You recollect that churchmen have put their feet upon the necks of princes."
"Yes, but that was when there was one church only in Christendom. It was a monopoly, and consequently a tyranny. Now there are a thousand, always in conflict, and serving very happily to keep each other from mischief.
They no longer put their feet on princes" necks, though I believe that the princes are no better off for this forbearance--there are others who do. But only fancy that this time was again, and think of the comical figure our worthy brother John Cross would make, mounting from such a n.o.ble horse-block!"
The idea was sufficiently pleasant to make Stevens laugh.
"I am afraid I shall have greater trouble in converting you, Miss Cooper, than any other of the flock in Charlemont. I doubt that your heart is stubborn--that you are an insensible!"
"I insensible!" she exclaimed, and with such a look! The expression of sarcasm had pa.s.sed, as with the rapidity of a lightning-flash, from her beautiful lips; and a silent tear rose, tremulous and large, with the same instantaneous emotion, beneath her long, dark eyelashes. She said nothing more, but, with eyes cast down, went forward. Stevens was startled with the suddenness of these transitions. They proved, at least, how completely her mind was at the control of her blood.
Hitherto, he had never met with a creature so liberally endowed by nature, who was, at the same time, so perfectly unsophisticated.